


When Will These Scars Begin to Fade?

by Caledonia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But it's still a difficult read, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I've said no graphic depictions of violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infidelity, M/M, Modern Era, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Scars, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, so be careful ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caledonia/pseuds/Caledonia
Summary: Through everything he had never seen himself as a victim, he was just himself and his partner was just his partner and their life together was just what happened.Please read the tags before reading.





	When Will These Scars Begin to Fade?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I am not making any money from this work.

Merlin cleans and dresses himself in silence, a heavy towel shoved against the crack beneath the bathroom door to stop any light which might escape and wake William. He sneaks his worn makeup bag from behind the toilet tank and sets to work on the red and purple bruise which graces his cheekbone. It takes a long time, but when he is finished not even he can tell where the cover up begins and ends. As with most things in his life at the moment, though, the true test will be to convince Arthur. 

As he buttons his dark blue shirt over his badly bruised torso, Merlin considers phoning in sick to work. Every movement is an agony, but a sick day won’t help him much as he knows from experience that these injuries will only hurt more tomorrow. Besides, where would he go if he didn’t go to work? There is no question of him staying home with William, that would cause too many questions and, perhaps, more bruises. Again Merlin’s mind flashes quickly to Arthur. _ Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. _

After concealing his makeup bag as expertly as he’d concealed his bruise, Merlin gives himself a once-over in the mirror and checks carefully for any visible wounds but finds none. There is a shadow of a bruise sneaking out above his collar, but if he keeps his tie on all day he should raise no suspicions. Cover ups on his neck never last the day as his shirt collar rubs the makeup off. Merlin barely breathes the bathroom cupboard door closed and he flinches when it clicks shut as though the tiny click were a booming bass drum. For a few moments all Merlin can hear is the panicked rush of blood in his ears, but then, from the bedroom, the sound of William snoring lightly. Sleeping. Merlin closes his eyes and says a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening. 

He leaves the flat as quietly as possible, three years’ experience making it easy for him to avoid every possible creaking floorboard.

On his way out of the building, still moving with deathly quiet and looking over his shoulder at every turn, Merlin removes a hidden key from the desiccated pot plant beside number 2’s front door and uses it to gently unlock the cupboard under the stairs. On the shelf just inside the door sit his headphones, a small mobile phone, a designer watch, and a small silver ring which once belonged to his mother. He twists the ring onto his pinkie finger, straps on the watch and slips the headphones around his neck before pocketing the phone. Almost despite himself his eyes roll over the sports bag in the corner which is packed with a month’s worth of essentials. Just in case. 

Merlin locks the cupboard, hides the key and, looking behind himself up the stairs to make absolutely sure that William hasn’t seen him, he steps out into the rainy morning.

[--]

The rain is beginning to make Arthur consider relocating to Spain or India or Australia or anywhere, basically, that isn't Glasgow in fucking January.

As he waits at the entrance to Hillhead underground station, watching pedestrians scurry by under tightly held umbrellas, Arthur wonders how practical it would be to put in a transfer application at work. After all, the Bank of Scotland has offices in a lot of places…

He'll talk to Sophie, see if she knows of any openings somewhere the sun shines for more than two hours a day in the winter.

Then Arthur sees the hoodie-clad figure of Merlin meandering down Byres Road, dodging under shop awnings, head down against the rain, and Arthur remembers exactly why he can't leave Glasgow. Merlin.  _ Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. _

Arthur shouts out, smiling, and Merlin looks up, his face a mask of terror. Arthur should know by now not to startle him. When he recognises Arthur Merlin’s fear turns to joy, but only for a split second before the fear takes over again and he looks around himself cautiously, checking, as Arthur knows, to see whether William is near. Merlin should know by now that if Arthur had seen William, he'd never have shouted. As far as William is aware, Arthur doesn’t even exist, and both Arthur and Merlin would like to keep it that way. 

Arthur can't stop the rage that fills him as he sees the fear on Merlin’s face and in his movements as he rushes across the street and pushes past the crowd outside Starbucks to stand beside Arthur by the underground station. Merlin always moves as though he's in fear of being noticed, and Arthur hates it. He wishes it was William who didn't exist.

And as Merlin lowers his hood and shakes raindrops out of his shaggy black hair Arthur catches sight of a fresh bruise on the pale, fragile wrist beneath the cuff of Merlin's dark blue shirt. He knows he isn’t meant to notice this bruise. Knows that Merlin will have spent a great deal of time this morning meticulously covering up the evidence, but something vile and repulsive twists inside him and he can’t stop himself from confronting Merlin about it.

“Again?” Arthur asks, interrupting Merlin’s good morning. He wants to grab onto Merlin’s arm and point out the bruise but Arthur can't bring himself to touch him. 

“Not now, Arthur, please.” Merlin says, his blue eyes wide and pleading as he turns away from Arthur and into the station, almost getting lost in the bustle of people. Arthur follows close behind and whispers harshly into Merlin's ear as Merlin descends the escalator one step ahead of him.

“Did you sneeze? Smile? Laugh at the wrong joke? Look left when he wanted you to look right?” Arthur’s voice isn't kind.

“Just drop it.” Merlin says up at Arthur, wincing as someone brushes past and his leather shoulder bag presses against his chest. Arthur ignites with fury, knowing from past experience that Merlin’s chest must be a sprawling map of bruises. Maybe he even has a cracked rib or two. Again.

“I told you I'm never going to ever just drop it. I'm never going to ignore it. I'm never going to accept it or be okay with it or turn a blind eye.” Arthur replies, more kindly, hoping that Merlin knows his intentions are good, and it’s because he cares so much about Merlin that he has to keep pressing the issue. Merlin looks away and tries to put a crowd between himself and Arthur. He succeeds in losing Arthur as they turn the corner and descend the stairs to the platform, surrounded by teeming, groggy students.

With one last look over his shoulder Merlin jumps into the train carriage just as the doors are shutting and Arthur stands on the platform and watches the train pull away. Inside the train carriage Merlin has pulled his hood back up and is standing by the train doors with his back to the platform, but Arthur keeps his eyes on him until the train is out of sight.

[--]

Merlin’s anger has evaporated by the time the train pulls into Kelvinbridge Station, so he alights from the train and waits for the next one to arrive, knowing Arthur will be on it, waiting for him. The five minute wait feels like hours, and all the while Merlin stands there, chewing his fingernails, feeling empty, regretful, and alone.  

When the train arrives Arthur gets off and walks slowly towards Merlin, sorrow etched into every shadow of his face. Arthur doesn’t like to argue with his friends. Merlin looks down again until the platform empties and when he looks up it is in response to the hand cupping his chin. Unbidden, tears well in Merlin's eyes. 

As though he knows it is there Arthur’s thumb runs over the hidden bruise on Merlin’s cheek and he closes his eyes in pain, tears spilling over. Arthur brushes them away with his fingertips so softly that it feels like the wind of an approaching train. When Arthur’s arms come around him Merlin collapses into the embrace, all the bravado of his morning melting away into desperately needed comfort. 

“Come and stay with me.” Arthur says, and Merlin feels the sour sting of shame which is always brought on by Arthur’s pity; a sting more painful to him than all of his physical wounds. There’s no question of it, Merlin can’t leave - William would kill him. He would actually kill him. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs Merlin quickly steps away from Arthur, far enough away that they could be strangers. A few seconds later he is immeasurably glad he stepped away in time.

“Lugsy!” someone calls, and Merlin looks over to the pair of police officers walking down the platform. He doesn't know their names, but they're colleagues of William’s, and they obviously know who he is. The one who called out extends a hand towards Merlin and Merlin shakes it, smiling. “How's oor Wullie, then?”

“Fine, aye.” Merlin replies, still smiling. 

“We haven’t seen ‘im much since he moved to Three Section, haven't we no?” The man, McLaren by his name badge, says, looking over to his partner as if to confirm. “Ahm Stevie, by the way, ye'll know me from the Christmas night.”

“Stevie, oh aye, I know ye now.” Merlin says, cutting his eyes to where Arthur is standing a few feet away, seemingly engrossed in his mobile phone. Merlin can still feel the ghost of Arthur’s thumb on his cheek, and the coil of shame within him unfurls, bringing a tinge of red to his face. 

[--]

Merlin avoided Arthur for the rest of the day, not letting him get a chance to continue their conversation from the train platform. The day goes smoothly enough, though Merlin is dreading the evening when William will be off shift and home, home, home.

That evening, after dinner, Merlin leans too hard against the counter and catches one of his bruises square, causing him to gasp and to lose his grip on the plate he is washing. The plate shatters on the floor and Merlin freezes, terror making it impossible for him to even breathe. 

William is already enraged when he arrives in the doorway to the kitchen, before Merlin has even has a chance to mutter an apology. 

The next day Merlin phones in sick. 

[--]

When Arthur arrives at his flat after work Merlin is slumped against Arthur’s front door with his head leaned back and the long, fragile curve of his neck exposed. There is a stark bruise on his cheek fading to yellow at the edges, but superimposed on it is a stain of fresh purple. One of his ears has a light crust of blood at the edge. He's wearing a red kerchief around his neck tucked neatly into the collar of his ancient brown leather jacket. It could be Merlin's attempt at fashion, but Arthur knows better. 

“Hey.” Arthur says in greeting, quietly so as not to startle. Merlin's eyes peel open and he regards Arthur with twin pools of misery.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Merlin asks, and his voice sounds like sandpaper rubbed over glass. Arthur fights back hard against the desire to hold Merlin strong in the protective circle of his arms and never let him go.

“Sure.” Arthur says, hoping to sound uninterested and non committal. Arthur lifts Merlin’s bag and carries it into the flat, knowing better than to offer Merlin a hand up. From the corridor come the huffing half-breaths of someone in obvious pain, but Arthur doesn’t go back to help him, he just walks into the flat and sets Merlin’s bag down beside the door. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Arthur asks later as he sits carefully beside Merlin, setting a bowl of crisps on the coffee table between them.

“No.” Merlin replies, his tone leaving no room for further questions. “Let's just watch telly.” They settle in beside each other, shoulders touching, and Arthur plays the show. Twenty minutes later Merlin reaches for the remote and pauses the TV. 

“It wasn't always like this.” Merlin says, not looking at Arthur. Arthur doesn’t want to speak in case he scares Merlin back into silence. “I just wanted you to know he wasn't always like this. **”**

The show resumes and Arthur exhales a long, slow breath. He knows that Merlin is afraid of William, and probably doesn't love him anymore, but he also knows that Merlin believes William is omnipresent and inescapable. Somehow,  _ somehow,  _ Arthur needs to show him that isn't true. 

Beside him, in silence, Merlin is crying, the tears falling, fat and wet, onto his lap and hands. Arthur pretends not to notice. By the end of the episode Merlin is sleeping soundly and Arthur tucks him gently beneath a blanket before going to his own bed.

When Arthur wakes in the morning, Merlin is gone without a note or a message, but his bag is still in Arthur's entryway, and Arthur leaves it there as a little reminder to himself that, while everything else in Merlin's life is shit, at least Arthur is a safe place. 

[--]

Merlin wipes his tears away angrily but they just keep coming. Trust him to have a complete breakdown in the toilets on a Tuesday afternoon. Damn. At least it's after closing time so the building will be mostly empty.

Merlin stares at himself in the mirror, watching the tears spill over his too sharp cheekbones and off his too thin face. William is right about one thing - no one in their right mind would want Merlin, or love him. He's too  _ too _ . Too skinny, too tall, too pale, too weak...too  _ everything _ . No one else besides William in the whole world could ever love him.

Merlin stares and stares at his reflection, the memories of the last 24 hours slamming into him like waves.

William had been night shift when Merlin had slept over at Arthur’s flat, so he wouldn’t have missed him, but William liked Merlin to check in, so Merlin always came home over his lunch on night shift days. So he’d gone home, like always. And there was William, in bed with another man.

Merlin just keeps staring at himself. His eyes lingering on everything about himself he’s learned to hate, trying to convert his emptiness into anger. So William is fucking someone else, so what? Merlin shouldn't care, he really shouldn't. He'd really thought he'd had it together, but his ashamed, bitter tears tell a different story.

The worst part was that the lack of reaction from William was proof that this wasn't the first time he'd been unfaithful, and he was absolutely sure Merlin knew. It was completely routine. Merlin ducks his head down and splashes his face with water, feeling sick.

As he's bent over the washing basin he hears the door to the toilets open and freezes, desperately searching for an excuse for his appearance. When he recognises the shoes and then Arthur’s voice, Merlin stops searching. It wouldn’t matter what he came up with, Arthur would see through anything.

Merlin doesn’t even let Arthur speak properly before he cuts him off. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Arthur looks at Merlin, takes in the tear stains and anguish, and then nods. Merlin swallows the last of his tears and follows Arthur out of the door without saying anything else. Outside the Bank of Scotland buildings Arthur hails a cab, Merlin remaining in the shadows until the cab stops and the door is open. Before he dashes across the pavement, Merlin makes quite certain that there aren’t any police officers anywhere in sight. 

[--]

As soon as they get to the flat Merlin asks whether he can take a shower. Arthur gathers a pile of comfortable clothes and leaves it beside the bathroom door in case Merlin wants to change out of his work clothes, then he goes into his bedroom to change himself. He kicks his feet up onto the bed and spends a few minutes flicking through his various social media accounts, waiting for Merlin to be finished in the shower. 

Arthur hears the water stop, then the bathroom door opens and closes again, then opens. When he’s sure he’s allowed enough time for Merlin to return to the living room, Arthur slips his phone into his back pocket and heads to the bathroom.

Merlin is there, wrapped in a towel, staring at himself in the fogged-over mirror. His back and shoulders are a kaleidoscope of bruises, some faded, some fresh. There’s a scar down the back of his right arm from a knife wound that is long healed. His pale skin is mottled red from the hot water, and a rivulet of water snakes from the bottom of his hair down between his shoulder blades and onto the towel tied at his hips.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” Arthur starts, but he stops when he sees Merlin’s eyes meet his in the mirror. Almost all of the evidence of tears has faded from Merlin’s face, but the emptiness is still there, and it makes Arthur want to take Merlin away from here, away from this world where he’s suffered so much.

“Will you be truthful with me, Arthur, even if you risk something of yourself?” 

Arthur watches Merlin for a few long breaths, wondering what the next question is going to be and terrified that he won’t know the correct answer. “Yes.” he finally says, then clears his throat and repeats himself. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Merlin asks, his voice catching as his eyes slip away from Arthur’s and onto his own reflection. 

“Nothing.” Arthur says immediately. Merlin closes his eyes like he either hasn’t heard or doesn’t want to hear. Arthur takes a step into the bathroom and says it again, “Nothing.”

Merlin turns around, resting his hands behind him on the bathroom counter top. His chest is bruised worse than his back, but Arthur forces himself to look away from it as Merlin meets his eyes and says, “William is…” Merlin breaks off as though he can’t complete the sentence, then he clears his throat and looks down at the ground, “There’s someone else.”

Arthur feels a red wave of fury roll through him but he does his best not to let it show. The absolute last thing Merlin needs in his life right now is someone who is angry. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t leave him, Arth, he’ll find me and he’ll kill me.” Merlin says, folding his arms over his chest.

“He’s a bloody police officer, he’s not about to…”

“He will kill me, Arthur, and he won’t even care.”

“So let’s leave. Let’s go now. We’ll go to the airport and catch a plane and he’ll never find us.” Arthur tries to impress upon Merlin that he’s absolutely serious, so he strides further into the room. Merlin smiles as he looks up at Arthur, his eyes incredibly sad.

“I’m telling you, Arthur, he will find me.”

[--]

The following morning Merlin leaves Arthur’s flat before dawn. He’s left a note behind on the kitchen counter explaining that he’d better be home when William gets there if he wants to live through the weekend, and he walks a very, very long way home. He makes wrong turns and takes shortcuts through people’s gardens and goes over a mile out of the way just in case anyone is watching.

At the corner of Hyndland and Great Western Roads a police cruiser pulls up beside the pavement and Merlin stops in his tracks. William is in the passenger seat and his eyes are volcanoes of fury as the window rolls down, but his voice is light and joking.

“What are you doing out here so early in the morning?” William asks, and when he’s done speaking he clenches his jaw so hard that Merlin can hear his teeth hitting together.

“Whoring, probably.” The driver of the vehicle suggests, laughing. William laughs along, but his eyes are on fire. Merlin has always hated the police humour, and it is certainly not helping his case right now.

“Out for a walk. It’s a nice morning, and I couldn’t sleep.” Merlin says, praying he doesn’t sound as terrified as he feels.

“Can we give you a lift home?” The driver says, leaning as far as he can across the centre console of the vehicle. William shakes his head.

“Let him walk. It’s such a nice morning.” William says, and the tone of his voice is such that surely even the other officer can hear the contempt and anger there, but the driver just laughs and pulls away from the kerb. William’s eyes stay upon Merlin's reflection in the side mirror as the car disappears down the road. 

Merlin doesn’t have a choice. He has to go home, now. William will be there in minutes, and if Merlin doesn’t arrive shortly after that there will be hell to pay. He probably won’t even have a chance to stop and stow his things in the cupboard under the stairs. His mind racing with panic and his heart beating so hard he is sure it’s audible to passers-by, Merlin begins to run. He turns down Devonshire Gardens and sprints towards the Hillhead Sports Club where he races into the men’s changing rooms and fishes a pound coin out of his pocket, feeds it into a locker and throws his mother’s ring, his mobile phone, and his watch into the locker before closing it and turning the key. He detours to the church on Julian Avenue and tosses the key into the collection box at the front door before running home to his and William’s flat on Cleveden Drive. 

He’ll have enough questions to answer when he gets home without having a mobile phone on him that William has never seen before, and the church will hopefully not empty the box for a few days, after which Merlin can pretend he dropped the key in there by accident. 

By mid morning Merlin will wish he'd run away then and just kept running.

[--]

Merlin isn’t at Hillhead station on Monday morning, and Arthur waits as long as he can before jumping on the train. He checks and double checks his mobile phone but there aren’t any messages from Merlin, no texts, no emails. Dejectedly Arthur slides behind his desk and tries to start the day. No one at work knows that he and Merlin are friends, necessarily, and he can’t exactly go about asking people whether they’ve heard from him or seen him since Friday. But he can’t let it rest, and it subsequently takes him longer to get focused than normal. When he finally settles down to read the pile of emails that have no doubt amassed over the weekend, he sees one marked Urgent and sent to him from an unknown address. His heart beating a staccato in his chest, Arthur opens the message. It’s only two lines: _ Monday afternoon. Your place.  _ Arthur is out the door and on the way home in seconds.

[--]

Merlin waits until William is definitely gone, and then he gathers the essentials. It takes a long time because he can barely move, but he is methodical and thorough. He will not be coming back. He packs no clothes, just the important things. Everything he can carry in one bag, and then he phones a cab. He asks politely for assistance down the stairs and fends off the sarcastic remarks until the cabbie sees him and after that doesn’t ask any more questions. Merlin directs the cabbie to the underground station on Byres Road, then calls another cab from there. Two bus journeys, a train ride and four cab rides later, Merlin alights outside Arthur’s flat. The driver leaves Merlin’s bag beside him on the pavement and drives away. Merlin limps to the front door of the building and presses Arthur’s buzzer. When Arthur answers Merlin can hear the anxiety in his voice.

“I need help getting in.” Merlin says, then lowers himself to the ground outside Arthur’s front door.

[--]

Merlin insisted that Arthur not phone an ambulance, but the decision isn't sitting well with Arthur. He's sure there's more than one broken bone, at least, and probably internal bleeding. But Merlin is adamant that all he needs is a bath and about twenty hours solid sleep, so Arthur obliged. 

After Merlin's been in the bath for almost thirty minutes Arthur is pacing outside the door almost desperately. There hasn't been a sound from in there for ages. Arthur knocks gently on the door, then less gently, then properly. Still no answer. After another few seconds of indecision Arthur lets himself into the bathroom without permission. 

Merlin is asleep in the bath, head listing gently to one side, but the gasp that escapes Arthur’s mouth is not because of that - it’s because the bathwater is pink. The deep, dark pink of blood in water. 

“Merlin.” Arthur says, both angry and concerned, and loudly enough to startle Merlin awake. Merlin’s eyes are wide and terrified and he looks around himself as though to assess the damage. Arthur can tell that the slightest movement causes Merlin pain and he lowers himself to the edge of the bathtub. “What has he done.”

“Nothing.” Merlin responds, as though he isn’t bleeding from somewhere beneath the water. Bleeding badly enough to make the water  _ dark _ pink. 

“What did he do?” Arthur demands, his tone unfriendly. Merlin looks at him for a long moment, bottom lip caught in his teeth, and then the tears start to flow. 

“I'm calling an ambulance.” Arthur says, and as he raises the phone to his ear Merlin’s face collapses in on itself.

[--]

They run Merlin through many, many tests and, of course, the police are informed. There are two broken ribs, a sprained ankle, a poorly reset dislocated shoulder (Merlin had reset it himself against the door frame because the pain had been making him blackout), and the knife wound in the upper thigh. As well as many deep contusions, a cracked tooth (Merlin assumed that had happened the first time he passed out, because his head hit the bed frame), and a severe concussion. 

His chest is wrapped tightly in an immobilising manner. His thigh wound receives thirteen paper stitches and is wrapped. Merlin sighs when they cover it, wishing it would vanish entirely instead of heal into a scar. He refuses any pain medication - he doesn’t want the edges of his world to blur right now.

Merlin submits to all the doctor’s questions, flinching at the terminology. Domestic Abuse. Rape. Victim. Victim. Victim. Through everything Merlin had never seen himself as a victim, he was just Merlin and William was just William and their life together was just what happened. 

In deference to William’s job title, the chief of police is summoned. Merlin trembles with fear and grips Arthur’s hand hard enough to crack his knuckles and bring out a gasp of pain. Merlin apologises but, by the look on Arthur’s face he can tell that Arthur would take any pain that Merlin would give him, if only Merlin could stop being in pain himself.

“I've known you for years, Merlin. Why didn't you tell me?” The police chief asks, and she almost begins to cry, but she holds her emotion back - her position not allowing her to falter. Merlin sinks into himself and feels shame deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. “I would have stopped him.” She says, which eliminates the need for Merlin to say anything at all. She then asks permission to hug Merlin, and he allows her to, and in that embrace they both begin to cry.

After she wipes all signs of emotion off her face she leaves, posting two constables outside Merlin’s hospital room. One of them is Stevie, the man Merlin had met on the train platform a few weeks ago - so much has changed since then. Stevie steps into the room long enough to promise Merlin that he had never known what was going on, that he’s sorry, and that he’ll do everything in his power to keep William from laying a finger on Merlin ever again, colleague or not.

After that happens Merlin can see Arthur visibly relaxing, and he allows himself to relax as well. Eventually he falls asleep, never letting go of Arthur’s hand, but he wakes many times in the night, from pain and from fear, convinced that he is still in William’s home and William is still going to find him.

[--]

Merlin moves in with Arthur almost as an afterthought. Arthur lets him have the bed while Arthur sleeps on the sofa. It isn't comfortable, but a lot of the time Merlin appears in the middle of the night and silently pleads Arthur to come into bed and wrap protective arms around him, and Arthur obliges, keeping awake until Merlin breathes soft, sleeping breaths against his arm, and then, only then, letting himself sleep, too. Although Arthur desperately desires their embraces to mean more, he knows he must be patient and step into whatever role Merlin needs him to fill at any given time: friend, protector, shadow, counselor, anything.

The court case against William is short but public, with reporters jumping like fleas on the story of an abusive homosexual police officer. In respect of the alleged crimes, Merlin doesn't ever need to be in the same room with William, but any time he's asked to testify he returns to the flat a shaking, sobbing mess that Arthur tries very hard to mend. But healing Merlin is far beyond Arthur's skill level. 

Their work grants Merlin a career break of twelve months but assures him he's only to return when his doctors believe he is able. Arthur considers quitting so he can be home with Merlin full-time, but after meeting with Arthur his boss decides that, as Merlin's primary career, Arthur should be granted leave as well. Although Arthur’s name is never mentioned (William hasn’t managed to find out Arthur’s identity yet, and they intend to keep it that way), the story appears in the papers and The Bank of Scotland are praised for their sympathetic actions.

Accused of several counts of Premeditated Grievous Bodily Harm spanning more than five years of their relationship together, William is sentenced to 30 years in prison, his sentencing and judgement more harsh considering his position as an officer of the law. On top of that he is issued with a non-harassment order against Merlin. When the verdict and sentencing are announced Merlin cries for hours. He sits on Arthur’s sofa, his face turned into Arthur’s shoulder, and he sobs. Great, wracking sobs that seem to come from outside of his body, and Arthur hopes that Merlin is shedding some of his bone-deep fear with each tear that falls.

[--]

Three days after the case is settled Arthur comes home from the shops and Merlin is in the bathroom with the door closed, but Arthur can hear him crying. Huge, air-gulping sobs that wrench through Arthur like physical pain. Vivid flashbacks plague him, the day Merlin had finally let him phone an ambulance, a dozen times since then when Arthur had gone to the shops and returned to a red-eyed Merlin. Had he been like this every time Arthur had left the flat? Arthur curses himself for ever leaving Merlin alone, and vows to never do it again. Arthur abandons the shopping in the corridor and goes to the bathroom door. He knocks and there is a painful sounding inhale from Merlin who takes a few moments before he opens the bathroom door.

His face is a mess of tears, his pale skin blotched with red. His eyes and lips are red and swollen, his nose running. He is wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, and the evidence of the years of abuse are clearly visible. Livid, red, raised, fresh scars, and pale, thin white lines of old wounds. Merlin is so thin he looks skeletal and Arthur wonders how he’s failed to notice that on top of everything. He seems to be failing Merlin the more he tries to help him. 

The worst physical scar is the word carved meticulously into Merlin’s left thigh. William’s parting gift.  _ Whore _ it reads, vividly red. Arthur wants to erase every mark on Merlin’s body, wants to vanish every brand left by William. But he can’t - he doesn’t know how. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting, I just wanted to check if you’re okay.” Arthur says, dully, feeling awful for intruding on Merlin's private moment. Merlin is allowed to be a mess right now - he’s allowed to be a mess for the rest of his life with how much he’s suffered. Merlin meticulously wipes his nose and face dry, folding the tissue carefully before looking at himself in the mirror again.

“I'm not okay.” Merlin says, barely breathing, and tears wind down his cheeks.

“I know.” Arthur replies, and he steps closer to Merlin almost unconsciously, wanting to take him in his arms.

“I'm hideous.” Merlin says, looking at himself in the mirror.

“You're beautiful,.” Arthur replies, but Merlin doesn't seem to hear him.

Merlin's fingers trace the word on his thigh, his eyes on his reflection. “There isn't anyone in the world who will want me now.”

“ _ I _ want you.” Arthur says in an instant. Merlin smiles, and it is the smile of an old friend being grateful for loyalty but disbelieving. 

“You've been so wonderful, Arthur, and there's nothing I could ever do to pay you back.” Merlin says, his breath hitching over a leftover sob. “I don't deserve a friend like you.”

Arthur thinks about all the times he thought he'd confessed his feelings to Merlin, and all the times Merlin had misunderstood him. Maybe it's time to be more straightforward…

“Merlin,” Arthur says, stepping closer, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asks, his eyebrows raised. Arthur raises his hand in a gentle motion.

“I want to touch you now with my hands, if you'll let me.” Arthur says, slowly.

Merlin is quiet for a long moment, then he nods, “It's okay.”

“One word from you and I'll stop.” Arthur says, reaching his hand out to touch Merlin’s cheek.

[--]

When Arthur touches him Merlin doesn't flinch. It's been years,  _ years _ since he wasn't afraid of a touch. He can feel familiar fear in his stomach, but he thinks it might be more because he doesn't know what's happening, and not at all because he's afraid of Arthur. It’s a strange sensation for him, and Merlin doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

Arthur cradles Merlin’s chin in his palm and looks at him with such emotion in his eyes that Merlin has to look away. Arthur begins to speak, and his voice is as quiet as a whisper, but still certain. “You're not picking up on my subtle hints, so I'm just going to say it.” Arthur clears his throat, then he’s silent until Merlin’s eyes meet his. There's fear in Arthur's eyes, and the unsettled feeling in Merlin's stomach grows wild. “When I tell you that there's nothing wrong with you, I mean it. When I tell you that you're beautiful, I mean it. When I tell you that I want you, I mean that  _ I want you. _ And when I tell you, now, right here, that I love you, I don't mean as a friend. I mean that I'm in love with you.” Arthur looks away then, and he sort of chuckles and shrugs. “I know you won’t believe me, not yet, but, with your permission, I will try to prove it to you.”

Merlin looks at Arthur, at the strong jaw and the curve of his cheek and the shell of his ear. He studies the creases around Arthur’s eyes, the single eyebrow hair that’s so long the barber must have missed it. He watches the pull and flex of Arthur’s lips as he tries, repeatedly, to smile. He reaches up and takes Arthur’s hand in both of his, turning it over to see the unblemished back of Arthur’s hand, so strong in comparison to Merlin’s own scarred, boney ones. He wonders if there is any situation in the world in which he can imagine this hand being raised in anger against him, and he is surprised to know there is not. Does he  _ trust _ Arthur? What a strange feeling.

Merlin puts Arthur’s hand back against his cheek and burrows into it, Arthur’s fingers curling gently into the hair behind his ear. Arthur closes his eyes and exhales. “Arthur, look at me, please.” Merlin says, his voice loud and strong between them, all traces of his tears erased. When Arthur opens his eyes the blue of them takes Merlin’s breath away. “I cannot believe that I am worthy of you,” Arthur starts to interrupt but Merlin continues speaking, “but I’m selfish enough to pretend.”

“If you being selfish means I get to show you how special you are, then I approve, wholeheartedly.” Arthur says, and his smile lights up the room.

When Merlin kisses Arthur, their lips barely touching, Merlin so afraid of his own actions that he starts to tremble, he can feel the tears starting to flow again. Arthur is so gentle with him, and Merlin is correspondingly breakable. When Arthur leads them to the bedroom and lays him down on the bed and begins to trace each and every scar with soft, loving fingers, Merlin cries unashamedly, feeling fragile and uncertain and deeply embarrassed. Arthur knows each one of these scars already - he’d helped Merlin recover through most of these wounds. Merlin knows he should take pleasure in the feel of Arthur’s touch on his skin, but he doesn't - he has to work too hard to let go of all of the pain and the fear and the PAIN. 

Arthur moves slowly, methodically, touching each inch of Merlin’s skin, letting Merlin relax into the sensation. Over the nights and days and weeks that follow there are many times when Merlin makes Arthur stop - makes him step away and leave Merlin untouched for a while, and Arthur remains patient through every second. He sits on the edge of their bed, or stands in the hallway when Merlin begins to really panic, and he talks to Merlin in his calm, soothing voice.

Every touch between them is consensual, though Merlin makes Arthur stop asking for permission after a few weeks. Arthur never rushes Merlin, never acts like he deserves or expects or demands sex as part of their intimacy, they just touch each other softly, and eventually Merlin begins to really believe. Every one of Arthur's actions and words prove that he truly does love Merlin. Merlin loves Arthur as deeply as he is able, the only space between them caused by uncertainty and Merlin's deep, unshakable self-doubt.

“I don't think I can ever…” Merlin starts to say one winter night, both of them unclothed, Arthur's fingers making a careful count of the ladder of scars on Merlin's left arm, “I mean even when I'm ready  _ for more _ … Because of what he's done... I don't think I can ever…” Why is this so hard to say?

Arthur leans in and kisses Merlin. Their kisses have been fiery lately, leaving Merlin breathless and aching for something else, something new. But this one is gentle, aching only in its intensity and the amount of contentment Merlin feels with Arthur's lips against his. Arthur pulls back and meets Merlin's eyes, and Merlin begins to cry. “I will never,  _ never _ , ask anything of you, Merlin.” Arthur says, and Merlin closes his eyes, a harsh sound escaping him as he begins to cry harder, his body shaking. Arthur, who is used to Merlin's sudden breakdowns, circles his arms around Merlin, being both strong and gentle. Merlin dissolves into the embrace, soaking up the comfort of safety. Merlin wants so much. He wants to not be so broken. He wants to want Arthur the way Arthur wants him. He wants to feel something besides inadequacy and fear.

_ He wants. _

[--]

In the end, Arthur and Merlin decide not to return to their jobs at the bank. They pack a few belongings into a suitcase and they fly somewhere warm where the sun shines for more than two hours a day in the winter. They rent a flat with an ocean view, and Arthur takes up work in a bar down the street. Merlin spends his days reading, sipping coffee and watching Arthur work. When Arthur isn’t working they stroll hand in hand down the endless beaches, and Arthur’s skin tans to a deep, golden brown. Merlin remains as pale as ever, despite the amount of time he spends in the sun. His scars glimmer with reflected light, but Merlin doesn't hide them, and no one asks. They both learn the local language, and Merlin begins to teach English. Neither of them ever think of Glasgow.

Merlin rarely wakes with nightmares, but when he does Arthur puts strong arms around him, and they lie together, awake, until the sun rises.

Merlin slowly starts to give back. He wakes one morning, tired of wanting, and he pulls Arthur to him in the sea-glass green glow of their sunlit room and they make love slowly, the sound of surf and birdsong mingling with their sighs.

Afterward, Merlin is surprised to feel tears on Arthur's cheeks, and he raises himself on an elbow and looks down, worried. Despite the past weeks and months of Arthur showing his devotion, Merlin is certain,  _ absolutely certain _ , that he's done something wrong.

“Don't.” Arthur says, propping himself up so their faces are almost touching.

“Don't what?” Merlin asks, and he sounds as scared as he feels. 

“I'm only crying because you're so beautiful, and I can't understand how I'm so lucky.” Arthur says, and he kisses Merlin gently. His damp cheek brushes Merlin's, and Merlin wants to believe him. He climbs on top of Arthur and looks down. He looks past his own too thin, too pale, too scarred, too broken chest and instead studies Arthur's. His broad, strong, muscular chest.  Merlin spreads his fingers out, covering the skin above Arthur's heart, and he sits there for a few long moments. He can feel Arthur's heartbeat in both of his palms, strong, reassuring, steady. And Merlin begins to cry. Because Arthur loves him. He truly, really, actually, honestly loves him, and Merlin finally believes. 

Arthur sits up, cradling Merlin in his arms as Merlin covers his face, sobbing. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Arthur says, but it's spoken so fast that it sounds like just one word,  and Merlin moves his hands away from his own face. 

“Arthur.” Merlin says, and his voice is steady. Arthur stops trying to figure out what's wrong and pays attention. “You love me.”

“I love you. Very much.”

“I love you, too, Arthur. And I'm not afraid anymore.” Despite his best efforts, Merlin's voice cracks and he starts to cry again, but he's happy. 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Guessimaclotpole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guessimaclotpole/pseuds/Guessimaclotpole) for the last minute beta. Where would I be without you? If you haven't read her work go do it now. It's wonderful, and she's wonderful, too.
> 
> I'm sorry for what I did to William. I love him, really. He just seemed the most likely candidate for this AU.
> 
> As always, I would love to know what you thought.


End file.
